He went and did this impossible thing. And then he told me about it, as if I could do anything.
“I love you, I really love you.”
“What do you want me to do about that?”
“I don’t want you to do something about it, I just wanted you to know,” Noah said, while we were across from each other at dinner.
“Okay. We’ll now I know. Let’s not talk about it again.”
“Lauren, this isn’t a thing we don’t talk about again. This is a thing I feel and I’ll keep feeling and I’ll keep telling you.”
“I wish you wouldn’t.”
“Wouldn’t feel or tell you.”
“I know you love me too,” he said confidently before putting another bite of olive oil dipped bread in his mouth.
“False,” I said, but he just kept looking at me as if I was supposed to join in this impossible task with him.
I don’t understand how someone can know all these things about you, the awfulness of human beings, the insincerities, the selfishness, and roll that all up and say they not only accept it but love it. No, it’s impossible. Now I think he’s a liar. Maybe not to me, but to himself.
I’m going to have to break up with him. I can’t date liars. Liars turn into cheaters and I want nothing to do with that sin.
“Lauren, you aren’t dumping me,” he says as if he could make it true by tucking my hair behind my ear.
“Yes, Noah that is exactly what I’m doing.”
“No, you are being scared of actually feeling. You are scared that you might care about someone more than yourself.”
“People aren’t capable of that. We are assholes and the sooner you know that the better off you’ll be in life. Think of me as your teacher.”
“I see you, I see all your crazy and I accept it. I want to be with you not despite of who you are, but because of who you are. Why can’t you just be happy being happy?”
“I’m not a happy person. I’m not a miserable person. I’m just a person. And I this love thing that everyone is obsessed with, with being, with finding, with feeling, it’s not a real thing. It’s not tangible. You don’t love me because you can’t.”
I say this and he comes closer still to me. He slowly closes all the distance in-between us. He pulls the cross of my arms apart. He inches into my face until we are recycling breath. He whispers into my mouth, “I see you. All of you. And I love it.”
I close my eyes for a second. Or a minute. Time is a concept I don’t think should be measured. When I open my eyes, I see him. I see all of him. His shiny black hair, his Italian bushy eyebrows, the sincerity in his brown eyes. He is beautiful. Noah is beautiful when he looks at me this way, in this sad, honest way.
But he still has this small sparkle of hope that he can convince me to let him love me. But I don’t want that. I want me. I was solitude. I know my face must mirror this, because his eyes ever so delicately pool in the corners. I won’t let my eyes do the same.
This isn’t easy for me. I’m not heartless. But I am selfish and I told him this from the beginning. On our first date, four months ago, I warned him not to fall in love with me. I told him right then that I don’t believe in love. But people do this thing, you tell them exactly as it is and they only hear what they want. He wanted to hear “love” and “me.” So then he did. He loved me. Until today. Until I said he couldn’t.
He says I pushed him away. I think I saved him. Saved him from eventually being broken because I will never love him. I will never love anyone.
Love is an impossible thing.